


Not This Time

by castielanderson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bonus/Optional Sciles Scene, Gen, Scott blames himself for everything etc., Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, post s3a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielanderson/pseuds/castielanderson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott McCall wakes up in the hospital with no recollection of what happened, but as time goes on, it becomes harder to repress the memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not This Time

There’s a stillness, and then he feels like he’s floating.  Currents pull him back and forth, gently carrying him along.  He moves with them at first, but at some point, he begins to fight.  There’s a tugging, an opposite force that tries to yank him upward, out of the water completely.  He doesn’t let it.  Instead, the water spits him out.

Things are dark and quiet for awhile, and then the beeping starts.

It sounds like an alarm somewhere off in the distance, steady and shrill, warning of impending danger.  Soon enough, a sort of hum joins the chorus.  Then a swish.  Then a thud.

At some point, all of this disappears, and Scott is almost jolted back to reality.  Everything is fading fast, and it takes him far too long to realize he’s waking up.  It’s a struggle to open his eyes, but with a huge amount of effort he succeeds.  His vision is blurry initially, but once it settles, Scott is surprised by his surroundings.

He’s in a hospital room.

He has no clue why.

He looks down at his body, and that’s when things start to come into perspective – the IV stuck into his hand, the tubes hooked up to his nose, the soreness of his throat, and the general achiness of his body.  He’s still not sure what’s happened, but he’s here for a reason.

Scott doesn’t try to think about it.  He decides to wait until someone clues him in.  Trying to remember anything makes his head pound.

Time passes, and Scott isn’t sure how long, but eventually, his eyes are fluttering back open at the sound of the door.  Someone steps in, and it takes him a moment to recognize his mother.  She moves closer once she sees him, concern and apprehension written all over her face.

“Scott?” she asks carefully.

He tries to say, “Mom,” but it comes out all garbled.

A broken smile splits her face, and she leans down, burying her face in her son’s shoulder.  “Oh, God,” she breathes.  “Scott, it’s – I’m so glad you’re awake.  I’m so glad you’re safe, and – and alive.”

“Wha’ happ’ned?” he manages to slur.

Melissa hesitates.  She pulls back, lips pressed tightly together.  “Scott, I don’t – I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you just yet.  Not if you don’t remember.”

It’s a curious response, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to budge.  Instead, he falls back on his pillows and turns his head to the side, choosing to rest his eyes rather than interrogate his mother.

.

.

The next time Scott wakes, there’s someone at his bedside.  At first, he thinks it’s his mother, but further inspection reveals it to be Stiles, fast asleep in a plastic chair.  His hand rests awkwardly on the side of Scott’s bed, mere inches from Scott’s own hand.  An odd surge of something sweet goes through Scott as his mind entertains the possibility of Stiles holding his hand while they slept.

Scott turns on his side carefully, wincing when aches crop up all over his body.  He decides not to bother Stiles, decides to let him sleep.  A hospital room chair isn’t the easiest place to sleep, and unfortunately, Stiles already knows that all too well. 

They’ll both be awake later on, and they can reconcile then.  For now, Scott is perfectly okay with letting Stiles get the rest he needs.

.

.

_Scott lies on his back with his eyes wide open.  In bed next to him, Stiles is pretending to be asleep.  Scott knows because his breathing rate and heart rate are much too fast for sleep.  They’re both waiting for the other to say something, searching for uncertain words in the meantime._

_Minutes, maybe hours pass before Stiles says quietly, “Can’t sleep?”_

_“Not for weeks now,” Scott replies, and Stiles hums._

_The house is quiet.  Melissa is working the night shift, and Isaac is spending the night at Allison’s, otherwise the three of them would be up marathoning movies or having intense video game tournaments._

_Instead, Stiles and Scott are stuck with the darkness, clinging to each other in an attempt to ward it off._

.

.

Stiles is reading when Scott’s eyes flicker open, but he doesn’t seem to be invested much in the words his eyes graze over.  He looks like he’s been crying, mostly, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy.  He sniffles, and Scott’s heart gives a twitch.

It takes an enormous amount of energy and concentration, but somehow Scott is able to mumble, “Stiles?”

His head snaps up, something like relief flooding his expression as he looks at Scott.  “Oh, thank God,” he mutters.  “They – they told me you’d woken up, but by the time I got here you were asleep again and I was worried you’d head back into coma land even though they assured me you wouldn’t – that you were recovering, but I – “

“What are you doing here?” Scott interrupts. 

Stiles blinks, looking almost offended.  “Everyone assured me you’d be fine, but I just wanted to make sure, you know.   I wanted to be here while . . . “

Scott waits for him to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t.  “While what?” Scott asks, and it’s Stiles’ turn to look surprised.

“Wait – I mean, your mom did say – but, Scott, you – you really don’t remember?”

Something stirs, but Scott still can’t tell quite what’s lurking on the edge of his mind.  He shakes his head.  Stiles looks away then, nodding to himself.  He doesn’t say anything more, and that only frustrates Scott.

“Stiles?” he prods.

Stiles holds up a hand, shaking his head.  “Scott, I can’t – it’s not my responsibility – I can’t be the one to tell you.”

“Well, can you tell me how long I’ve been here?” Scott asks.

“Three days.”

That hits him a little hard.  Three days he’s been mostly asleep, lying in this hospital room and recovering from something he can’t remember.  It’s unnerving.

.

.

_Stiles handles it better, that much is obvious.  Scott’s not quite sure why, but he guesses that it might be Stiles’ experiences with grief and how he’s always been able to lift himself up._

_Scott can’t do that.  He’s always been too quick to take responsibility, too quick to take the blame when something goes wrong._

_There was already a darkness inside of him when he took on this new one, and now he can’t fight either of them off._

.

.

Allison shows up later in the day, her hand in Isaac’s, but she quickly lets go the moment she sees Scott.  Her eyes fill quickly with tears, but it’s obvious she’s trying desperately to fight them off.  She moves in a calculated manner, lowering herself with precision into the chair Stiles has abandoned for the time being.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, and Scott just shrugs.

“I’m exhausted, mostly.  A little achey, but it’s nothing.”

Allison nods, and her lips tremble.  A hand comes up to her mouth and she has to turn her head away for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says once she manages to get herself back together.  “I’m just – I’m really glad you’re alive, Scott.    You really had me worried.”

Scott doesn’t say anything, just offers a sad smile.  He doesn’t like hearing these things, knowing what he’s somehow done to the people around him.  He’s not even sure what landed him here in the first place, but he hates how everyone’s reacted to it.  He doesn’t want them to worry.  _He’s fine_.

Isaac takes an awkward step forward, clearing his throat.

“We would’ve come sooner,” he says quietly, “but I didn’t – I didn’t really know how to react to everything, and I still don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Scott says.  “I’m just glad you’re here.”

His voice sounds hollow, and Allison and Isaac exchange a look.  Tension is rising in the room, and Scott could kick himself.  He’s really fucked everything up, hasn’t he?

The answer is confirmed when after forty-five minutes or so, Allison and Isaac excuse themselves.  Scott can hear them fighting in the hallway, and he wishes he could just pass out. They return with forced smiles, an obvious distance between them.

Scott hates feeling responsible for it.

.

.

_Melissa’s out, and Scott wishes he was.  It would be a hell of whole lot less awkward if he could get out of the house, but Allison’s dad is home, and Scott has a huge test tomorrow.  Compromises have to be made, although Scott wishes Allison and Isaac could be a little bit more considerate._

_It’s hard to concentrate with the insistent banging on the wall and the obnoxious shattering of his heart._

.

.

For awhile, it seems like Lydia is just there for Stiles.  She sits with him next to Scott’s bed and holds his hand.  She watches Scott when Stiles asks her to, and she accompanies him into the hallway when it’s obvious the stress is getting to him and he needs a moment to breathe.

However, eventually, Scott realizes she just doesn’t know what to say.  But she gives him these kinds of looks, looks of sympathy, of concern.  She holds his hand too, giving him compliments and telling him how amazing she thinks he is.  They never brooch the subject of why Scott might be in the hospital, and he’s okay with that.  He’s not sure he wants to find out from her. 

Stiles informs Scott that Lydia feels guilty for not being as attentive and talkative as she could be, but Scott knows she cares, and that’s enough for him.

.

.

Nightmares come two nights after Scott first wakes. They come with a sort of ferocity.  Scott drifts into a comfortable sleep, but as soon as he feels safe, he’s being thrown into darkness, drowning in thoughts that don’t feel like they’re coming from him, but they’re there, surrounding him, choking him. 

Faces flash in and out of his vision, and he can’t quite make sense of all of them.  He sees his friends – Stiles, Allison, Lydia, Isaac.  They’re all there, but they seem so far away.  He tries calling out to them, but none of them react.

The darkness gives a shift, and a grimy hand comes out of nowhere.  It reaches right into Scott’s chest, and suddenly, he can’t breathe.  He falls to the ground, bracing himself on all fours.  He grapples desperately for air, but he can’t get enough.  In addition, a churning has started in stomach, and soon enough it’s protesting, spilling its contents all over the ground.

His heart gives a leap, and then Scott wakes with a start, covered in sweat.

.

.

Scott doesn’t pay much attention to the nightmares at first.  He takes them to be some kind of taunting of the sacrifice scars.  Stiles has had nightmares too – it shouldn’t be a big deal.

But then reminders start to come, little things that trigger warning bells in the back of Scott’s mind.

Due to his drowsiness, Scott hasn’t been paying much attention to the structure of his stay and the way his body is behaving, but the more days he spends in the hospital, the more he starts to recognize things that are happening.

For one, his appetite is completely messed up.  The food that comes to his room is already in tiny portions, but even then, he feels dangerously nauseous after every meal.

The body aches – initially something Scott wasn’t concerned about – become alarming as he finds out that he can barely stand.  Walking is torture as pain shoots through every inch of him, and going to bathroom proves to be one of the most difficult journeys he’s ever made.

There’s also a reason he’s hooked up to oxygen, as he finds out.  Just walking to and from the bathroom has him gasping for air, and Scott’s initial thought is that he’s having an asthma attack, but his mother calmly explains that he’s simply experienced damage to his respiratory system that should, given time, heal.

But what really gets him is the way the people around him look at him.  He’s recovering, that much is obvious, but the more progress he makes, the more concerned people seem to be.  Stiles hardly leaves the room, and his mother pokes her head in every time she passes his room.  Sometimes she even makes ridiculous detours just to see how he’s doing.  Lydia grows steady more quiet, and Allison and Isaac don’t even look at each other anymore, too focused on giving their attention to Scott.

Scott tries.  He tries to remember, but the memories are so hazy and he just doesn’t have the strength to push through and drag them to the surface.  He can remember going to school on Wednesday.  He remembers going to work afterward, but beyond that point, it’s just a blur.

.

.

On the third night of his conscious stay, Scott gets sick.  They change his menu too soon, and he’s left vomiting into the trash can.

Something about it strikes a chord within Scott.  Images come flooding back, but still nothing makes sense.  There’s cold tile underneath his body.  He’s on all fours and he’s heaving, his body fighting hard to rid itself of whatever’s gotten inside.

That’s all Scott remembers, but it’s enough to send him into a panic.

He’s given a sedative, but once his sleep again becomes his own, the nightmares rear their ugly heads.

.

.

_It’s dark, and Scott’s heart is pounding in his throat.  He has to be quick, has to get this over with as fast as he can.  Guilt slows him down, but Scott knows he’s doing the right thing.  He left an explanation, and he hopes everyone will understand why he has to do this._

_Scott counts to three and lifts the jar off the shelf._

.

.

Derek doesn’t visit, but somehow he’s found out about whatever’s happened.  Stiles passes along his well wishes, but Scott only feels guiltier.  Derek left to get away, and he doesn’t need reminders of what he’s left behind.

He doesn’t need reason to think he should come back.  Scott is the Alpha in Beacon Hills, and he can handle this.  He can.

(He can’t.)

(That much has been made obvious.)

.

.

His dad doesn’t visit either – not that Scott cares.  He made it obvious that Scott means nothing to him years ago, and Scott doesn’t need his pity.  For all Scott cares, his father can go to Hell.

.

.

_They’re shouting, and it’s just like he’s young again, desperate to solve things far beyond his control.  Maybe that’s when his complex started.  However, Scott doesn’t intervene.  Instead, he sits locked in his room, forced to listen as his mother and father fight over what they believe is best for their son, shoving words into his mouth and hypocritically and completely ignoring anything he actually has to say about this situation._

_Nights keep passing in much the same, and it isn’t long before Scott’s cursing himself, self-hatred burning his insides as the weight of his parents’ divorce descends upon his shoulders once more._

.

.

On the fourth day, Scott wakes to the most visitors he’s had at once during his stay.  His mother sits closest to him, Deaton at her side.  Stiles is on the other side of the bed, and Lydia is next to him.  Allison and Isaac sit at the foot of his bed, still not looking at each other.

Something’s wrong.  Scott can feel it.  Something’s very wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asks nervously.  “This isn’t some kind of intervention, is it?”

Everyone exchanges nervous glances.

“Actually it is,” Stiles jumps in, unafraid.

Scott turns, stunned, towards his mother. “Mom – “

But she shakes her head and reaches out with tear-filled eyes to grab his hand.  “Scott, we need to have a serious discussion.”

“Scott,” Deaton starts carefully.  “Your mother and your friends tell me you don’t quite remember what happened?  Is that true?”

Scott avoids his eyes, looking down at his lap and keeping his jaw firmly shut.   He knows.  Somewhere deep inside he knows what he’s done, but he’s still pretending, still pretending like he doesn’t know, still pretending that it didn’t happen, still pretending that everything is fine and the he’s fine and that he always will be fine.

“Scott?” Deaton prods.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.  He’s not talking about this.  Not right now.  Not in front of all his friends who probably have the worst thoughts going through their minds. 

“Scott,” comes Stiles’ voice, and Scott cracks ever so slightly.  “Man, look – if you do remember – we’ve already gone through this once.  We can do it again.”

“What if we can’t?” Scott asks, intent on keeping his eyes locked on his lap.

“Don’t say that,” Allison whispers.  “Scott, I know you.  And Stiles and I know what you’re going through to an extent.  You’re strong enough to get through this.”

“Scott,” Deaton says again.  “You don’t have to be ashamed.  In fact, you shouldn’t.  But you do need to be brave and face these consequences.”

Scott hangs his head, pressing his chin against his chest.  He can’t.  He can’t be brave – not when he feels like he’s falling apart.

“I can’t ,” he whispers, shutting his eyes tightly.  “You guys – you don’t know – “

“But we do,” Stiles protests.

“You don’t,” Scott says firmly.  “Things – they were bad before the sacrifice.  It was too much then, and you guys know that.  It’s more than too much now.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, and then another hand joins his mother’s.

“Look at me, Scott,” Deaton says. 

With great reluctance he does, though he’s particularly careful not to let his gaze stray to anyone else.

“Tell me what you remember.”

It takes awhile.  It takes a huge amount of effort, a huge amount of courage.  It takes plenty of deep breaths and a few strangled sobs, but focusing on the love from his family and friends, Scott finally admits it – both to them and to himself.

He breathes the words more than he says them. 

“I tried to kill myself.”

Deaton hums in response, and Scott finds that he can’t look him in the eye anymore.  He hurriedly looks back down at the bed sheets.

“I came back from my car to find that someone had broken into my storage room,” Deaton says quietly.  “An entire jar of mistletoe had disappeared.  Scott, I know you know that mistletoe is poisonous to werewolves.”

“I thought it would work,” Scott whispers, and his voice cracks.

“It would’ve,” Deaton says, “if I hadn’t found you in time.”

Scott pulls away now, wrapping his arms around himself and hanging his head.  His mother’s hand comes up to rub circles into his back, and he flinches away.  She settles on touching his shoulder lightly instead.

“I feel so stupid,” he mutters, and yeah, those are tears.  He can’t stop them now.  “But I don’t know if I’m more upset with the fact that it didn’t work, or that I tried in the first place.”

“Scott, look – I’m not as well-versed in psychology as my sister, but I can offer you some advice, as well as support.  Will you let me?”

Scott doesn’t move, doesn’t react in any way that suggests he even heard Deaton.

“Scott?  Please, Scott – look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he moves his head so that he’s looking at Deaton.  Tears are still running down his cheeks, and his eyes have turned red.

“Everything that you’ve gone through – everything you’ve seen, and done, and experienced, including the sacrifice – it was bound to take its toll on you.  Scott, you shouldn’t be ashamed for cracking.  But at the same time, suicide isn’t the answer.”

Scott heaves a shaky breath.  “What if it is?  What if I’m causing more trouble than I’m worth?”

“You’re not,” Deaton says firmly.

“You’re worth the world,” Melissa says, voice shaky as she speaks for the first time.

“She’s right,” Stiles whispers, and Scott dares to look around the room.

Stiles is smiling weakly, eyes watery and red.  Lydia’s got a hand on his shoulder, and her expression matches his – absolute love for Scott with a bit of desperation.  Allison is crying openly, squeezing the life out of Isaac’s hand, and Isaac is gazing at Scott with a silent plea in his eyes: _don’t do this_.

Deaton nods in agreement.  “Scott, you’ve taken the role as leader, but you set such high standards for yourself.  You’re still just a teenager, and trust me when I say you don’t have enough knowledge to combat everything that’s thrown at you.  Scott, most of the time _I_ don’t even have enough knowledge of what to do, and I’m the protector of your pack.”

“Well,” Scott says.  “Then – then what am I good for?”

Melissa drops her head, and Stiles scoffs.  There are other indications of disbelief around the room, but those two are the most obvious.

“Scott, you’re such an idiot,” Stiles mutters, shaking his head.  “All of us here – we don’t give a shit if you’re our alpha or not.  We don’t care if you can’t single-handedly get us out of every terrible situation.  We’re all in this together man, and you’re good for just being you.”

“Stiles – “

“No,” Stiles interrupts.  “Scott, I’m tired of you thinking everything falls to you because it doesn’t.  Man, you’re so much more than the standards you’ve set for yourself.  We’ve gone through this.  Just – just think, alright?  Look around this room, look at every face in here and tell me that no one cares about you just because you’re you.”

Scott takes a moment to look around, but all he sees are mistakes.

“Scott – you and me – we’ve been best friends since we could walk.  Why the hell would that change now?  And your mom?  She’s been out of her mind, Scott.  You’re her whole world.  And Allison – “

“I still love you,” Allison cuts in, voice shaking.  “Whether we’re dating or not, I love you, Scott.”

“And Isaac, and Lydia,” Stiles continues.  “They have no idea how to approach any of this, Scott, because they’re terrified.  They’re terrified of the idea of you being gone.”

Both of them node solemnly.

“And me,” Deaton adds.  “Scott, I’m not just your boss, or your pack’s emissary.   I’ve known you since you were little, and I’m here as a friend, as a guardian, even.  Believe in me Scott.  Believe in your family and friends.  Let us help you.”

Scott shakes his head again, not convinced enough.  Too much has been his fault, too much has happened because of him, and he can’t keep causing the pain he does. 

But at the same time, maybe it’s not worth it right now.  If people still believe in him, he has to deliver.  Pulling himself completely out of the situation would be a letdown in itself.  Either way he chooses, he’s making mistakes, but maybe if he doesn’t pick the permanent solution, he can still hope for redemption.

“Alright,” he says, quiet.  “I – I know what I did was stupid, and maybe I’m too hard on myself.  And – and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey,” Melissa says softly, reaching up to push the hair out of her son’s face.  “Just promise that you’ll come to one of us when you feel like this.  There’s always a better option.”

Scott gives the room another sweeping glance, really, honestly looking at everyone seated around him.

“I promise,” he says, because they deserve that much.

And maybe he does too.

.

.

**[bonus scene]:**

If Scott thought just going to the bathroom was torture, he clearly wasn’t prepared for the trek up to his room once he got home.  Stiles and Isaac both have an arm around his waist, taking some of his weight as they help him up to his bedroom.

“Just a few more steps,” Stiles grunts, tightening his grip on Scott’s arm.

They stumble onto the second floor landing and all take a second to breathe.

“The next time you try to kill yourself,” Stiles pants, “pick something with a higher success rate.  Or at least – something that doesn’t leave this kind of complication when you fail.”

Both Isaac and Scott glare at him.

“Too soon?” Stiles asks.

“Dude, you’re not even the one in insane amounts of pain,” Scott says breathily, grinding his teeth together.

“I beg to differ,” Stiles mutters as they continue on to Scott’s bedroom.

After depositing Scott onto his bed, Stiles doubles over, breathing harshly.  “I thought you lost weight,” he huffs, pulling himself back up.

“Stiles,” Scott mutters.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just being an ass, sorry.”

Silence falls for a moment as humor falls away and reality comes crashing back.  Both Stiles and Isaac lock eyes on Scott, and Scott refuses to look at either of them.  The tension grows stronger as Isaac looks between Stiles and Scott.

“Uh – I’m just gonna – “

“Alright,” Stiles says, waving him off.  “Yeah, that’s probably a good – “

The door clicks shut, and Stiles turns back towards Scott.  Both of their smiles have faded, and it’s back to facing the burning truth of what’s happened.  Carefully, gently, Stiles takes a seat next to Scott.

“I – I suppose we’ll have to talk about it sometime, huh?” he asks, twisting his fingers together.

“We made a promise, a pact,” Stiles says. 

“And I broke it,” Scott says.

Stiles nods.  “Scott – “ he starts, but cuts off right away, not even sure where he was going.

“Stiles, I’m sorry,” Scott whispers.  “I’m so, so sorry.  I know it was stupid, and I know it was selfish, but I –“

“Scott,” Stiles says firmly, interrupting.  “Please, _for the love of God_ , stop blaming yourself.”

Scott halts, a little taken aback. 

“Look, I know,” Stiles says, heaving a deep breath.  “I know that terrible, throbbing darkness is hard to overcome sometimes, and I know you didn’t have it easy before it was there, but Scott – _God_ – Scott, you can’t just give up, especially on me.  Man, we made a promise to each other.  When we feel like this, we go to each other first.  We don’t take any action.”

“I know,” Scott mumbles.

“Scott, when your mom – when I got the call, and she told me – she told me that you tried to _kill yourself_ . . . I thought I was dying, Scott.  I actually thought and felt like I was dying.  That – that darkness – it felt like it was drowning me.  I can’t do this without you, Scott.  And – and you might have had a hard time before it was there, but I had something else too.”

Scott looks up confused.  He barely has the chance to ask, “What?” before Stiles’ lips are pressed to his own, pushy, needy, desperate.  He’s shocked at first, but it doesn’t take long before he’s melting at Stiles’ touch.  He kisses back eagerly, ignoring every protest of pain in his body.

They pull back at the same time, both hesitant.

“I don’t know if I could live without you,” Stiles breathes.  “So please, _please_ stop trying to kill yourself.  I didn’t grow out my hair for it to turn gray.”

Scott laughs, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like he can breathe again.


End file.
